


Let me go home

by SecondStarOnTheLeft



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/M, Miscarriage
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-15
Updated: 2012-12-16
Packaged: 2017-11-21 07:24:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 2
Words: 14,180
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/595037
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SecondStarOnTheLeft/pseuds/SecondStarOnTheLeft
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Targaryen princes do not take well to being refused Stark brides.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Based on [this prompt](http://asoiafkinkmeme.livejournal.com/12376.html?thread=7588696#t7588696) for the kink meme.

Garlan had some time ago gotten into the habit of waking Willas in the mornings - it lowered the chances of Father trying to do the same - and so he wasn't at all surprised to find his brother's bed empty. Willas spent more nights in Sansa's room than his own, after all, even if it did look as though he'd spent at least some time here last night.

Garlan was a little less comfortable about entering his goodsister's room, especially since every time he went to Sansa's rooms to fetch Willas they seemed to be fucking, but Father had sent him to fetch Willas to discuss these guards that had been killed during the night, to try and figure out  _why_ someone would go to the trouble of killing three of their guards and then not take anything-

"Willas?!"

Willas was spread-eagled on the floor, his crutches halfways across the room, blood soaking his hair and staining his face.

"Willas, come on, up you get," Garlan said bracingly, firmly stamping down on any panic that may have risen as he knelt at Willas' side, as he rolled his brother onto his back and checked that he was at least still breathing. "Come on, you've had quite enough sleep, wake up."

Willas woke slowly, then all at once - and he panicked quite enough for both of them.

"Sansa!" he gasped, pushing himself up and falling back against Garlan almost immediately. "Where- Where is Sansa? Did you stop them? Is she safe?"

"Stop who? Why wouldn't she be safe?"

Willas moaned as if in pain, burying his face in his hands.

"Get me my crutches," he ordered, using Garlan's shoulder to lever himself upright. "I have to- nobody saw them? There were  _five_ of them, Garlan! How could nobody have seen them?!"

"Willas, who are you talking about?" Garlan asked, helping Willas steady himself - he was still getting used to his new sense of balance, still getting used to only having one foot to stand on - before stepping away. "What's going on?"

Willas gestured impatiently to the window on the far side of the room, a stained-glass rendering of the Starry Sept-

Or rather, to the open space where once there had been a stained-glass rendering of the Starry Sept.

"Aegon Targaryen has my wife," Willas said angrily. "And he can bugger himself if he thinks he's keeping her."

Willas could put out an admirable burst of speed on his crutches, Garlan had to give him that, especially with no boot and a head wound. He wavered once or twice on the stairs, but he reached the top without falling and then turned for Father's solar-

"What in the world happened to you?" Father exclaimed when Willas burst through the door.

"Aegon has Sansa, Father - he took her last night. I couldn't- I couldn't stop him, Father, I couldn't keep her safe-"

And to everyone's surprise, Father set aside his breakfast and stood up to throw his arms around Willas, who Garlan had just noticed was shaking - shock or fear or anger, he didn't know what was causing it, but he knew that the only way to stop it would be to find Sansa.

"He stole her from her bed, Father," Willas was saying, "I promised her that she would always be safe here at Highgarden, and he stole her from her  _bed."_

"We will get her back," Father promised. "House Tyrell will not stand for this any more than House Stark did twenty years ago."

* * *

"The coast is being monitored, Your Grace," Sansa heard someone saying, but she was blindfolded and gagged and bound with her hands behind her back and her ankles together, so all she could do was listen and pray that Willas would find her quickly. "They got word to Oldtown ahead of us, and to the Arbor as well - and your uncle's not likely to welcome us with open arms, either."

"There is more to Dorne than Sunspear," came Aegon's voice. "Just as there are more escapes from the Reach than the coast - we will turn back east, stay close to the mountains. The Stormlands are still indisputably mine, after all, are they not?"

"Yes, Your Grace," the first man said again. "But we will have to travel too near to Highgarden for my comfort-"

"We are not worried about  _your_ comfort, Lord Connington," Aegon said sharply. "We ride east."

"Your Grace-"

"I am king, Lord Connington," Aegon snapped. "And as such, I expect to be treated appropriately."

"A king would not have stolen another man's wife and risked his strongest alliance by scorning his betrothed,  _Your Grace,"_ Lord Connington snapped back.

There was silence for a moment, and then Aegon spoke once more. "We ride east, Lord Connington."

Sansa huddled back against the wall behind her - wooden, so she was in a wagon, she thought - and prayed that Aegon would not try and speak with her again, would not try to convince her that he was doing this for her own good. He could not seem to understand that she loved Willas, that there was no other husband she could imagine having, no other husband that she would  _want._

But of course, Aegon was fond of the sound of his own voice, of his twisted reason, and sure enough, her blindfold and her gag were removed in short order, and he settled himself cross-legged before her.

"Did you sleep well, my lady?"

"I am not  _your_ lady," she said, hating that her voice was thick with tears. "Please, let me return home, please, I am married, I  _cannot_ be your wife-"

"I'm sure the Faith will be amenable to the wishes of their new king, particularly when the woman being fought over has borne the king's child."

Sansa was sure her heart stopped for a moment then, that this had to be some sort of terrible nightmare and that she was going to wake up in Willas' arms any moment now, she  _had_ to wake up in Willas' arms any moment now because this madness could not be real, it couldn't be but it was, she was at the mercy of another mad prince and now there was nobody to save her, no one at all.

"I will bear only my husband's children," she said stiffly, inching away from him when he leaned towards her. "And  _Willas_ is my husband."

"Not necessarily forever," Aegon said brightly, reaching over and touching her face, frowning when she flinched away from him. "You will be a  _queen_ if you do as I ask."

"I don't want to be queen!" Sansa insisted. "I just want to go home, please, your highness, please let me go home-"

"Haldon!" he called over his shoulder, ignoring her pleading. "I need you to check Lady Sansa's health - you will travel with her in the wagon."

Aegon slashed the ropes binding Sansa's wrists and ankles and pressed a kiss to her brow before departing. She curled around her belly, around Willas' babe, and she began to weep.

* * *

"He could have done anything to her by now," Willas said wretchedly, sprawled face-down on the big couch in the library. "She could be  _anywhere."_

"They didn't leave by any port," Father said encouragingly. "And it has not even been a moon's turn-"

"Sansa is with child, Father," Willas said, burying his face in the nearest pillow. "He could have- What if he made her abort the pregnancy? What if he hurt her?"

"Why would he take her if he meant to hurt her?" Mother pointed out hopefully, crouching beside Willas and running her fingers through his hair. "What does he stand to gain in harming her?"

"He's wanted her from the moment he saw her," Garlan said quietly. "I know that we must keep our spirits up, but there's no point in being fools - if Sansa is still with child, she won't be for long."

"If she's with child, it's probably not mine anymore," Willas agreed, voice muffled by the pillow. "And he  _must_ have hurt her, Mother - he didn't take her for her political acumen."

"What will you do if she's carrying his child when we find her?" Mother asked softly, and Willas shuddered visibly at the thought. Garlan's own stomach twisted sickly, and he ached with sympathy for his brother - the idea of another man taking Leonette...

"I will... I'll be whatever Sansa needs me to be," Willas said after a long moment. "Whatever she needs."

"Randyll Tarly will be back soon with our men," Father said encouragingly. "We'll have more to help with the search, then, and-"

"I know, Father," Willas said, finally pushing himself up off the couch and swinging around awkwardly. "We will find her. I know. And then I'll take Aegon Targaryen's head myself, and damn the Iron Throne to hell."

* * *

The door of Sansa's chamber creaked when it opened, and she burrowed deeper under the covers, hiding herself as completely as possible in case-

"Come now, sweetling," Aegon crooned, creaking the door shut behind him and sliding the latch into place. "That's no way to greet me, is it?"

She stayed hidden, curled around her empty belly (oh, he'd been furious when the half-maester had told him she was with child, and he'd held her nose and poured tansy tea down her throat and done it twice to be sure that Willas' babe stained her thighs red) and trying not to shake, because if she shook he would know how frightened she was.

He threw back the covers, concern and annoyance warring in his disarming violet eyes, and then he sat on the edge of the mattress, frowning when she pushed herself back to the wall and dodged away from his hand.

"Now, Sansa," he warned. "We've been through this-"

"Let me go home," she begged. "Please, you've had your- your fun, please, let me go home, I just want to go home-"

"This isn't about  _fun,_ Sansa," he said, standing up and shaking his head. She bit her tongue to hold back a sob as he started disrobing, jerkin and shirt. He sat back down to pull off his boots. "I told you about my father's journals, didn't I?"

He had, at length, while holding her in his arms and telling her that it was all for the better that they get rid of her and Willas' babe ( _it was not his choice to make, it was nothing to do with him, nothing of his)._ He'd told her of prophesied heroes, of three-headed dragons, of allying with his aunt with his daughter in his arms ("Because it will be a girl, a warrior princess to ride a dragon and inherit Westeros," he'd said, manic light shining in his eyes, "like Rhaenys and Visenya - our daughter, Sansa, Queen of the Seven Kingdoms!").

"I just want to go home," she said desperately when he stood back up to slide his breeches and his smallclothes down his legs. "Please, Aegon, please, let me go home, let me go back to my husband-"

"My father knew that this was the only way," he carried on as if she hadn't spoken, tugging the pillow she'd clutched to her chest away from her, reaching for the hem of her nightgown (she only ever had nightgowns, she never left this room). "Our bloodlines, Targaryen and Stark - Valyria and the First Men. Your aunt failed him, but you won't fail me, Sansa. I know you won't."

"Please," she choked out, "please don't."

He never listened.

* * *

"He's probably taken her out of the Reach," Lord Tarly pointed out with characteristic bluntness. "Have you sent word to Sunspear?"

"They're probably part of it-"

"No, Father," Willas said, waving his hand sharply, dismissively. "No, the Martells will have had nothing to do with this - this was Aegon acting on his own, probably against all advice. I... I wrote to Prince Doran the day after Sansa was taken, Lord Tarly - he said that he has no knowledge of what his nephew is doing, and I for one am inclined to believe him."

Garlan gripped Willas' shoulder in support, wishing there was more he could do - they'd scoured the Reach for any trace of Sansa, but there was nothing to be found. Nobody seemed to have seen anything suspicious, and given that almost three moons had passed since she'd been taken...

"He holds the Stormlands," Lord Tarly said. "They are his base of power, yes?"

"It's possible he has Sansa in Storm's End," Willas said. "He has made it his base - he mentioned something about righting a wrong because the Baratheons held Dragonstone."

Lord Tarly huffed and folded his arms.

"Then we invade the Stormlands if he will not return your wife, my lord," he said, as though it were that simple.

Willas nodded, surprising Garlan.

"I will give him one final chance to return her," he agreed. "And if not..."

"War."

* * *

"A peace envoy is being sent to Highgarden to reason with your husband," Aegon said, his hand cupped around her neck. Sansa hated when he did this, when he was gentle with her - it was so much easier to hate him when he hurt her, so much easier to fight aside the guilt she felt for not remaining faithful to Willas, even though she knew that that was silly, because it wasn't as though she had a choice, it wasn't as though Willas would ever fault her for this, even now that Aegon's child was growing inside her - so she tried to pull away, tried to move.

His grip tightened.

"I will be a member of the party," he went on, holding her brow to his in a sick mockery of the intimacy she shared with Willas, with her  _husband._ "I will make him see sense, don't worry."

"I don't want him to see your sense," she whispered. "Please, Aegon, let me go home, please-"

"How can you go elsewhere when you are carrying my child?"

"I never wanted to carry your child, you made me get rid of  _my baby,_ my  _husband's_ child-"

"Stop this," he said sternly. "We've been through this, Sansa - this, us, this is important. This is  _destiny."_

"This is madness," Sansa breathed. "Please, let me go, bring me with you to Highgarden, I can stop Willas and Lord Mace from declaring war,  _please-"_

* * *

"The bastard," Willas breathed. "How  _dare_ he-"

"Stay calm," Garlan said sharply, catching Willas' wrist just before he lunged forward at the sight of Aegon's silver hair. "He's a fool, but if you attack him now he'll kill you, and then where will Sansa be?"

"He dares to come here, to our  _home,_ after what he has done?" Willas snarled, and Garlan was thankful that Father had taken hold of Willas' other arm. "He kidnapped my  _wife,_ Garlan, my Sansa, he took her and he  _dares_ come here as though there is nothing wrong?!"

"Calm yourself," Father ordered. "We won't get her back by killing the prince."

"But he-"

"I know, Willas," Father said, and the hand he had on Willas' arm seemed more comforting than restraining. "But you won't get her back by killing him, you know that."

Aegon greeted them calmly, as though everything was right in the world, as though he didn't have Willas' wife ( _You'll be safe here, little sister, we won't let anyone harm you,_ and Garlan loathed that he had said those words and then broken his promise) held prisoner somewhere. Sansa would be terrified, Garlan knew, scared out of her wits. 

"If you will allow me to explain, you will understand why I behaved as I did," Aegon said, and then he  _smiled,_ the bastard, he bloody well  _smiled_ at Willas as though they were friends, as though he hadn't taken the most important part of Willas' life away from him. "Trust me - I am sure you will see reason."

Garlan wondered if Aegon would have survived that remark had Father not "accidentally" kicked Willas' crutch out from under his arm just then.

* * *

"You're mad," Willas said flatly. "A hero of legend? You kidnapped my wife, you've... You have  _raped_ my wife, because of some nonsense in old books?"

"Sansa is still reluctant to open her mind," Aegon admitted, "but she will see sense. Our daughter is a necessary part of this. The dragon must have three heads, my lord."

"You seem to be misunderstanding the part where you  _kidnapped and raped_ my  _wife,_ Prince Aegon," Willas bit out. "But I dare say you didn't rape her until you forced her to get rid of our child, did you?"

"This child is-"

"This child should not exist!" Willas shouted, knuckles white on the arms of his chair. "Sansa is  _my_ wife, regardless of whatever insane foolishness you have strung together and called justification - she was never yours to have!"

"She was destined to be mine," Aegon corrected. "Ice and fire, my lord - Arianne would not fit that. She is  _all_ fire."

"She is your betrothed," Father said. "Sansa is a married woman-"

"Who did not give your son an heir-"

"She was with child when you stole her!" Willas fumed. "She was carrying  _my_ child when you took her, you-"

"Willas," Father said sharply. "Sansa will be returned to Highgarden."

"Sansa's marriage to Willas will be annulled," Aegon said as though speaking to a simpleton. "She will marry me, we will legitimise our daughter, and-"

"You cannot annul our marriage," Willas broke in, obviously confused. "Sansa was carrying my child, so there can be no doubt that our marriage was consummated, and we were married here in the sight of the Seven-"

"I will be king," Aegon said, as though that were an excuse for everything.

"And House Targaryen has always had the Faith in their pocket," Willas said, the colour draining from his face. "Surely they will not accept this? You have  _raped_ Sansa, and I know for certain that she would never consent to marrying you."

"What is it about the importance of this that escapes you all?" Aegon asked, throwing his hands up in exasperation. "I am the Prince Who Was Promised, but I  _need-"_

"Your aunt fits the prophecy better," Maester Lomys said quietly, not looking up from the journal Aegon had provided as proof of his supposed "right" to Sansa. " _When the red star bleeds and the darkness gathers, Azor Ahai shall be born again amidst smoke and salt to wake dragons out of stone._ I notice a distinct lack of dragons at your side, your highness, and I remember your birth - a great deal was made of it. There was no smoke and salt, my lord."

Aegon's cheeks flushed deep pink, his jaw clenching, and he breathed out sharply.

"Three heads," he said by way of explanation. "Myself, my aunt, my daughter-"

"And you will take them as wives, will you?" Willas said bitterly. "Targaryens have a taste for more than one wife, I know, and doubtless my wife will not be enough for you-"

"My aunt and I may sit the throne together, yes," Aegon said hotly, "but my daughter will be my heir-"

"Why did you need my wife if you plan on wedding your aunt, then?" Willas demanded, leaning forward as if to stand. "You offered Sansa a crown before and she refused you - what gave you the right to take her anyway?!"

"I have  _told_ you-"

"And I have told  _you,_ Prince Aegon, that I think you are mad!"

"Sansa remains where she is," Aegon said firmly. "House Tyrell and the Reach are sworn to me as their king, and-"

"And you have betrayed us," Father said. "In taking my son's wife, you betrayed us." He held up a hand when Aegon made to argue. "You betrayed our trust, betrayed our oaths of fealty - you negated our oaths, in fact, so tell me what is to stop me from calling for your head right this minute."

"I-"

"You may leave Highgarden in order to return my gooddaughter to us," Father said, rising to his feet and looking, for a strange moment, very much like Loras, if Loras had been older and considerably fatter. "But if she is not returned to us within a moon's turn, I will call my banners and the Reach will go to war, Prince Aegon."

* * *

Sansa shrieked when the door of her chamber slammed back against the wall and Aegon strode in, still wearing muddy boots and travel-stained cloak.

"You told me you were unaware that you were with child," he said, and his grip on her arms was so tight that she cried out in pain. "You lied to me!"

"I- what-"

"Your  _husband_ knew full well that you were spawning his brat!" Aegon shouted. "You  _lied!"_

"Aegon!" Septa Lemore exclaimed from the door, running in and pulling him away from Sansa. "Haven't you done enough? Even your father never treated Lady Lyanna this way!"

She stood between Sansa and Aegon until Aegon's breathing evened out, and she closed the door behind him when he stormed from the room.

"Did he hurt you?" she asked gently, rolling up the loose, short sleeves of Sansa's nightgown and holding her arms up to the light. She clucked her tongue in concern - the skin where Aegon had held her was already red, and Sansa could feel the bruises coming up - and sighed. "He is not usually like this. Since we came to Westeros, he has been..."

"You knew my aunt?" Sansa asked as a distraction - her stomach had been in knots for days, both the babe and the worry of what might happen to Willas while Aegon was in Highgarden leaving her sick. "And... You knew her after...?"

"Some," the septa said quietly, coaxing Sansa to her feet and wrapping her in the soft woolen robe Lord Connington (who had seemed oddly sympathetic, considering before he had all but implied that Sansa was likely to try and seduce Aegon into just such a situation as this) had left. "Come, let us get you to the maester-"

"Did she go willingly?" Sansa asked softly. "With Prince Rhaegar - did my aunt wish to go with him?"

It was raining outside, and windy too - it was rarely anything else at Storm's End now that winter had set in - and Sansa leaned closer to the older woman, worried that she might miss something with the howling noise.

"I knew your uncle better," the septa said at last. "Brandon. I did not meet your aunt between her departure from Winterfell and her death, but your father... I spoke to him after she died."

"You knew my father, too?"

"A little - more than your aunt, I suppose. He was of the opinion that... That she went willingly at first, but that she changed her mind when your uncle and your grandfather were killed."

"And Prince Rhaegar would not let her go home," Sansa whispered. She shuddered at this next parallel between herself and her aunt.  _But I never wished to go,_ she thought,  _he deluded himself into thinking I wanted him, and then he killed my baby and forced another into me._ "How did you come to serve the prince?"

"I was close to his mother before her death," Septa said. "Do not lose hope, my lady - he lost his temper, but he is not a cruel man."

_If he is not a cruel man, how has he done this to me?_

* * *

"You have to send her to Highgarden."

"No! She is carrying-"

"I don't care!" Jon shouted. "I don't care, because you have risked  _everything_ we have worked for in taking this girl - you shamed your cousin in doing this, you ruined two alliances by taking another man's wife and scorning your betrothed, you have behaved as a fool and a brat, and I am  _ashamed_ of you."

"You never judged my father for making off with Lyanna Stark," Aegon fumed. "He scorned my mother and ruined the realm for that slut, but you never once judged him ill for that - how is this different?"

"Because you were raised with your father's example hanging over you! You should have known better! You should have  _controlled_ yourself!"

"I am your king-"

"And a Targaryen in deed as well as name!"

Both froze then, looking across the room at one another in surprise. Jon wondered where it had gone wrong - he had been so sure that they had done right by Aegon, Lemore had been sure as well, but this  _mess_ over the Stark girl, no, the  _Tyrell woman..._

"You expect us to take King's Landing and, from there, the rest of the realm," Jon said tiredly. "It is a great pity that you have taken all of our allies and firmly alienated them."

* * *

"She's having his child, Garlan," Willas said. "What if she... What if she  _does_ come to love him? What if she does want to annul our marriage-"

"I know how Sansa looks at you," Garlan broke in carefully, taking the decanter of wine away while Willas was looking out the window. "She loves you, Willas. That will not change."

"Even if she does not come to love him... Gods, that's even worse," Willas said desperately. "That means she's been locked away by a man who she is frightened of for months, that she's been... She's been raped, Garlan, that bastard raped  _my Sansa_  and I let him walk away with his head. What kind of man am I to do that?"

"One who wants his wife back," Garlan said carefully. "You know this, Willas, and going over it again and again will benefit no one, least of all Sansa."

"What if she hates me, Garlan?" Willas asked, in the tiniest voice Garlan had ever heard. "What if she hates me for not saving her from him? For not stopping him from taking her in the first place?"

"She won't," Garlan said, but he could tell Willas didn't believe him.

* * *

"The babe seems well, Your Grace," Haldon said, his hands as gentle as always on Sansa's belly. "Lady Sansa is suffering from mother's stomach - it is not an uncommon malady, sire."

"Can you tell if it is a boy or a girl?" Sansa asked quietly, because no matter how deep her hatred of Aegon might run she couldn't hate this babe, her babe, even though she wished that she'd never had any child but Willas' in her womb. 

"It is a girl!" Aegon exclaimed, sweeping her to her feet and pressing a hard kiss to her mouth, frowning when she kept her lips firmly together. "We must pick a name for her - Rhaenys, for my sister? Rhaella, for my grandmother? Visenya, for my uncle? There are many names - Daena, Alysanne, Rhaena, Elaena, Naerys-"

Sansa sobbed ( _Willas and I talked about naming the babe Naerys if it was a girl, our babe, our daughter),_ and Aegon frowned again, harder this time.

"You must stop this," he said sternly. "It is bad for the babe-"

"Then leave me," she said, pushing away from him and curling up in the chair by the fire. "Please, if you will not let me go home, please, leave me be."

He pressed his hand, gentle and firm, to her belly (he was only ever gentle when he was touching her belly, she wished so much he would accept that his work was done and just let her be), and frowned once more.

"When we are wed-"

"I will  _never_ wed you."

He blinked in surprise, no, in amazement, and then he scowled.

"You will wed me," he said sharply, more a promise than anything. "The heir to the throne cannot be a bastard-"

"What is this babe but a bastard?" Sansa said, unable to fight back tears as she pushed him away again. "I am married to another man, to a man I  _love,_ and you are forcing me to bear this child-"

"It is an  _honour_ to bear this child," Aegon said firmly. "Why do you refuse to understand that?"

He huffed in annoyance and strode out of the room - he seemed torn between a mad desire to spend every moment at her side and a desperate anger with her for not returning his ardour - and she gulped on another sob as Haldon followed him out.

"I will keep you away from him," she whispered to her belly. "Even if that means sending you far away from me, too, I will keep you safe from him."

* * *

"It has been a full moon, my lord," Lord Tarly said. "Will you call the banners?"

Garlan kept his hand on Willas' shoulder, Willas who was barely eating, sleeping only when he literally couldn't keep his eyes open a moment longer, Willas who was fading away in time with the hopes of Sansa being returned to him. 

"I have already sent the ravens," Father said, and Willas' head lifted, something other than despair in his eyes for the first time in weeks.

"Thank you," he whispered, reaching out to clasp Father's hand. "Thank you, Father, thank you-"

* * *

"The Tyrells have declared against us," Jon said. "And your uncle has not replied to any of our calls for help. What do you say now of your  _prophesied hero?"_

Aegon's jaw was tight, his hands clenched white-knuckled at his sides.

"We have the Golden Company," he said. "We roust the Tyrells once, show them their place-"

"The Hightowers are marching, not just Randyll and his men," Jon broke in. "Baelor Brightsmile is leading them out. The whole of the Reach-"

"The Hightowers have remained neutral thus far."

"Nobody had hurt the Old Man's favourite grandson before now," Haldon said as he came in with a book tucked under his arm. "The Reach has lifted its banners, sire, and there is unrest here in the Stormlands - Targaryen rule sits poorly with Baratheon men."

"What would you have me do?"

"Return Willas Tyrell's wife to him, for a start," Jon suggested sarcastically. "But getting a child on her after forcing her to give up _his_ child might rather sour the deal, I suppose."

"I  _need_ her-"

"No," Jon said. "You wanted her, and because we never refused you anything before, you assumed you could have her."

"The realm needs its saviour-"

"And you want to play hero," Jon said bitterly. "You say your father brought the realm to ruin, and that is true, mayhaps, but you are doing nothing to restore it."

* * *

"What if Sansa wants to keep the child?"

Garlan stood in the door of Mother's sitting room and watched her speak with Willas without commenting.

"Then... Then we will raise the child here," Willas said. "I cannot deny her that, Mother. I  _will_ not deny her that. A child... Well, it will not be our child, but a child will be the best of her ordeal, and I won't take whatever little bit of good she might have left from her. I won't."

"And if the child looks like its father?"

Willas flinched, and Garlan grimaced - the thought of a silver-haired child with those alarming violet eyes running around Highgarden...

"If Sansa wants to keep it, then we will keep it," Willas said at last. "The babe did not ask to be conceived this way, Mother. I cannot punish it because its father is a raping bastard."

* * *

"I ride to war, Sansa," Aegon said, arms folded across his chest. "Have you nothing to say to me?"

_I hope Garlan and Baelor and Randyll Tarly decimate your forces, and I hope Garlan takes your head._

"My prayers are with you, sire," she said quietly.  _Prayers for your death, for your end, for the end of this madness, prayers that I may go home._

"Hmmf," he said, crouching down before her and setting his hands to the now-visible (five moons along, near six moons since she’d seen Willas last) swell of her belly. "I will not be long, sweetling," he cooed, leaning in and nuzzling his cheek against the soft lambswool of Sansa's nightgown. "I will be here to see you born, my little dragon."

 _I pray that you will die long before this child is born,_ Sansa thought.  _I pray that you will fall down the stairs and break your neck, I pray that you will choke on your next meal, I pray for anything that will allow me to go home._ What she said was, "You'd best be going, sire."

He frowned at her - he did little else these days, but at least he didn't touch her aside from her belly, didn't try to kiss her or worse, lie with her, anymore - and stood up.

"If your husband and his family continue to behave so stubbornly, I will have no choice but to execute them," he warned her. "But at least then you will be free to marry me without having to petition the Faith, hmm?"

 _Please, gods, old or new,_ she prayed desperately,  _let Garlan kill him, let Garlan be the one to cut him down, because Willas cannot but Garlan is the next best thing, and if not Garlan then Uncle Baelor, please, just let him die, let me go home, please._

* * *

"We know the land better," Lord Tarly said, and Baelor nodded in agreement. "They'll think they've a steady footing, when really-"

"We've guided them into a swamp," Garlan said, pleased. "Good. We have our archers at the ready?"

"On the crest of the hill, here," Baelor assured him, pointing out the positions on the map. "We'll get Willas' girl back, never fear - and we'll skin a dragon in the process, too." 

"I'd rather take his head," Garlan said grimly. "Skinning's not effective against lizards, I hear."

"Where'd you hear that?" Baelor asked, grinning his famous smile as they stepped out from under the canopy and into the rain.

"Willas," Garlan admitted. "But he heard it from Oberyn Martell, who I gather was something of an authority on such things."

Baelor sighed, his smile slipping.

"How is he, Garlan?"

"Terrified that she'll hate him when we get her home."

"She won't, surely?"

"No, but you know how he is."

"Morose bastard."

"He might cheer up a bit if we get her back for him. I hope he will - I worry for him, Baelor."

* * *

Aegon had decided to lead the charge himself, had left Jon in charge of Storm's End - in charge of Lady Sansa.

She was a pretty girl, all Tully and nothing of the Starks in her, but she'd gotten so thin that the swell of her belly was obscene, and her fiery hair was lank and dull, her eyes glassy and red with the tears she tried her best not to shed.

"We did not raise him to do this," Jon said to Lemore.

It was Ashara who looked up at him from under the septa's veil, not Lemore, Elia's friend who had never liked Rhaegar, Brandon Stark’s lover, the one who told Ned Stark where to find his sister.

"There is more Targaryen in him than we anticipated," she said shortly. "I will see to Lady Tyrell's comfort as best I can - you realise she prays constantly for Aegon's death?"

Jon sighed.

"If I were in her place, I might do the same."

* * *

Baelor's laughter was manic as they drew to a halt, a lull in the fighting allowing them to come closer for a moment. 

"Leading the attack," he scoffed. "Gods above, I've never heard of an attack being led from behind a wall of guards!" 

Garlan frowned, wondering how difficult it would be to get to Aegon. 

"There are only five guards," he said. "Shout for Humfrey - I have a dragon to slay."

* * *

"Let him die," she whispered over and over again, kneeling before the Warrior in the sept, "let him die, let me go home, let him die, let him be killed, I'll never ask for another thing, just please, let him die."

It was getting harder and harder to so much as leave her room - Lord Connington had given her the freedom of the keep, so long as she kept Septa Lemore with her - but she forced herself to come to the sept every day, forced herself to get up and pray for freedom, for Aegon's death and for home, for  _Willas_.

“I won’t let anyone hurt you, little one,” she whispered to her belly, “but you will be safer if your father dies, we will _all_ be safer if your father dies because he is mad, completely mad.”

 

* * *

 

Aegon’s breath choked out of him again when Garlan’s fist slammed into his gut again.

“Tell me where she is!” he shouted, and Aegon laughed.

“It’s too late,” he spluttered. “Don’t you see? If you plan on ridding her of our daughter, it is too late – trying to do so now would kill her, too, and your brother would never forgive you that.”

Garlan rarely lost his temper, but Aegon’s idiocy was pushing his control ( _Sansa smiling up at him from Willas’ side as she tied her favour around the tip of his lance, My knightly brother, she had teased, and Willas had been looking at her with so much love it had amazed Garlan that his brother hadn’t simply burst with it_ ).

“You have lost,” he said furiously. “You have been defeated-“

“Will you kill me, then?” Aegon mocked, spitting blood at Garlan’s boot. “Kill me now, if I am so wretched – but you won’t, will you? Your _little sister_ is still missing, and you cannot afford to lose her forever, can you?”

Garlan leaned in close to Aegon’s face, close enough that even Baelor and Humfrey, holding the bastard’s arms, would not be able to hear him speak.

“Be thankful, you little worm, that my brother is not the one standing before you,” Garlan murmured. “He would have tortured you halfways to death by now for what you have done to his wife. In fact, if you do not tell me where Sansa is, I will bring you back to Highgarden so Willas can do as he wishes with you – is she at Storm’s End?”

“If you kill me, who will there be to take care of my daughter?” Aegon asked, raising an eyebrow and smiling triumphantly. “You cannot believe-“

“This child will also be Sansa’s,” Garlan said. “And my brother has it in him to love anything of Sansa’s simply because it is hers. It will be raised at Highgarden. Tell me where she is.”

“This child is heir to the Iron Throne,” Aegon said scornfully. “It cannot be raised at Highgarden-“

“This child is a bastard born of rape,” Garlan hissed. “But because we know Sansa, and because my brother is a better man than any other that I know, it will not be shamed for that. Tell me where she is.”

“When I sit the Iron Throne-“

“Who is going to put you there?” Garlan asked, holding Aegon’s chin hard enough to bruise. “Hmm? You have lost the Reach, and Dorne has been very quiet since you scorned Princess Arianne, I suspect. Do you think the Golden Company alone will be enough to win you your crown?”

Aegon said nothing.

“Your aunt is sailing for Westeros with her dragons now,” Garlan said softly. “She has denounced you and has no intention of sharing her throne – what are all your plans now? Are you certain that you are the dragon’s third head?”

 

* * *

 

Sansa cried out once more in pain before the contraction passed.

“It’s too soon,” she said frantically, clinging to Septa Lemore’s hand. “I am only seven moons along-“

“Hush now, sweetling,” Septa said, stroking Sansa’s hair back from her face. “All will be well, just keep calm, listen to Haldon-“

“Let me go home,” Sansa prayed hopelessly as her body twisted with another contraction. “Let me go home, let me see Willas once more, let me go home, home, please, _home-“_

* * *

 

Storm’s End loomed massive and _yellow_ on the crest of the cliff, but Garlan breathed a sigh of relief to finally be there.

“Maester!” he shouted back over his shoulder, and Lomys was there in a moment. “You have everything you might need to tend Lady Sansa?”

“Everything I need and more, my lord,” the old man assured him. “I will be ready to care for her, have no fear.”

Garlan glanced back to the wagon where Aegon was bound and gagged and sighed.

“Then let us find my little sister,” he breathed, kicking his heels into Florian’s flanks. “And let us pray that she is still there for us to save.”

 

* * *

 

“Nearly there, my lady!” Haldon called from between her legs, but Sansa was lost in a litany of _home home home_ and blinding pain ( _this should have been Willas’ babe, mine and his, with curly brown hair and roses in his cheeks_ ) and couldn’t think of the half-maester. “One more push-“

She screamed, back arching, and then, and then-

“A boy,” Haldon said as Sansa slumped back onto the mattress and sobbed, as the babe squalled mindlessly. “A boy, my lady, a son.”

Sansa forced herself to look, and she sobbed with relief when she saw the tuft of red hair, the familiar creamy paleness under the blood, prayed that when she saw her son’s eyes they would be Tully blue, not Targaryen purple-

“Will you take him, my lady?”

She managed to nod, let Septa Lemore help her sit up, and there was an awkward few moments of shuffling as Haldon cleaned the babe and Septa helped Sansa unlace her nightgown.

He was a tiny little thing, red haired and red-cheeked and so like Rickon that Sansa nearly choked on it, but he took to her breast so fiercely that it hurt.

“I remember when Aegon was born,” Septa Lemore said softly, “his mother nearly died birthing him, but she refused a wet nurse – nursing him exhausted her so much she could hardly move.”

They sat there in quiet for a long while, the babe suckling and Sansa looking down at him, searching fearfully for any trace of Targaryen in him and finding none.

“He always was a greedy thing,” Lemore said at last. “I will find where you are moving to, shall I?”

Sansa nodded, unable to look away from the tiny creature in her arms because she was so relieved that he looked nothing like his father.

 

* * *

 

“You are ruined, Lord Connington,” Baelor said, leaning across the table, his face completely serious for once. “Return my nephew’s wife and we will say no more about it.”

“And what of the child?” Lord Connington asked. “She is in the birthing bed even as we speak-“

“My brother has agreed to raise the child at Highgarden,” Garlan said patiently. “Please, at least allow me in to speak with her? She is probably terrified, I might be able to offer her some comfort-“

“Nobody sees her but me,” Aegon snapped, hands bound before him and head high. “I am-“

“A raping bastard,” Garlan said carelessly, waving away Aegon’s protests. “Please, Lord Connington – see reason. Let me see her, please?”

“I cannot surrender the castle like that,” Lord Connington said firmly. “Not unless you release Prince Aegon to us.”

“Release my goodsister first, and then you can have your prince back.”

 

* * *

 

“They’ve been negotiating near to three days,” Sansa heard Lemore say, and gods, had it really been three days? All she knew was that it was freezing, absolutely icy, but Haldon wouldn’t let her have enough blankets, and he insisted on keeping her window open unless the babe was in the room with her.

“If they don’t finish soon, she won’t live to see Highgarden,” Haldon said, sounding old and tired, and Sansa sobbed in terror because no, no, she had to see Highgarden again, see _Willas_ again, had to get _home…_

“How are we to forgive him all this, Haldon?” Lemore asked softly. “He has done _worse_ even than his father did. Even Jon cannot possibly forgive him this.”

Sansa curled up against the cold, whimpering in pain because oh, her belly was so _sore,_ and praying for home.

 _Garlan is here,_ she told herself. _Garlan will bring me home to Willas, he will, I know he will._

* * *

 

“You have a maester with you, Ser Garlan?”

Garlan looked up in surprise when Lord Connington appeared in their camp, but…

“Yes, we do,” he said. “Why?”

“Your goodsister has been struck with the birthing fever,” Lord Connington said. “Can your maester see to her?”

Garlan cast about for Lomys, and he was already darting off to fetch his box of medicines.

“You may accompany him, of course,” Lord Connington said. “Lady Sansa is… Very unwell.”

 

* * *

 

“Sansa! Sansa, can you hear me?”

She blinked heavily, turned her face towards the voice that couldn’t be Garlan’s, even though it was, and managed a croaky cry of delight when it _was._

“Oh, come here to me,” he said gently, gathering her up into his arms and letting her nestle against his chest. “We are not leaving her here, maester.”

“I couldn’t treat her here, anyways,” said- was that Maester Lomys? It was! Was she back at Highgarden without realising it? Had this all been some sort of terrible nightmare? Did that mean Willas was nearby?

“Willas?” she asked hopefully, horrified by how weak her voice was.

“He’s at home, little sister,” Garlan soothed, “but we’ll get you home soon, don’t you worry.”

“The babe… My son-“

“We’ll get him too,” Garlan promised, “but let’s get you somewhere safe first, will we?”

She leaned into him some more, clutching at his jerkin with shaking fingers. _Home, home home home, Garlan is very close to home._

“Baelor and Humfrey are here, too,” he said gently, “and we’ll get you home to Highgarden soon, I promise, Sansa, just stay awake for me, will you? Just a little longer.”

“So tired,” she sighed, “so cold, Garlan, I’m so cold.”

“We’ll get you warmed up soon enough, I promise,” he said, shifting his hold on her and carrying her higher against his chest. “Come on now, Sansa, stay awake or we can’t bring you home to Willas.”

“Not fair,” she complained, and Garlan laughed as they bounced down the stairs. “Can’t stop me from seeing my husband. Does he hate me, Garlan?”

“Never, Sansa, he could never hate you. Don’t be silly.”

“Aegon killed our baby,” she said, pressing her face against Garlan’s shoulder. “He killed mine and Willas’ baby, Garlan, I tried to stop him but I couldn’t, he’s so strong and I _couldn’t_ -“

“I know, Sansa, I know,” he said, “you just stay awake and keep calm, and Maester Lomys will help you feel better, sweetling, and then we’ll bring you home.”

“Alright,” she sighed, holding tighter to his jerkin. “Don’t let him near me, Garlan – is he here? Did you kill him?”

“How could I kill him when we had to trade him for you, silly girl? He won’t get near you, though, I promise you that.”

 

* * *

 

“So this is the third head of the dragon,” Baelor said, looking down at the tiny babe in Garlan’s arms. “He looks more a trout than a dragon, I have to admit.”

“Aye, he’s the image of Sansa,” Garlan agreed. “She hasn’t named him yet – I wonder will she give him a Targaryen name?”

“Aegon has been shouting something about Daeron, I think,” Baelor said. “Or Aeron. I try not to listen while he’s speaking.”

“I don’t think Sansa will want him to have a Targaryen name,” Garlan said, glancing towards the tent where Maester Lomys was keeping Sansa, where no one else was allowed to go. “She may well name him for her father, I think, or one of her brothers.”

Maester Lomys emerged from Sansa’s tent looking harried, and held out his hands impatiently for the babe.

“Damned half-maester,” he huffed, carrying the boy with him as he moved towards his own tent, Garlan and Baelor trailing behind him. “Fool, masquerading as a man of healing and him without a full chain – Lady Sansa might have died had we arrived here even a day or two later.”

“She will live, though?”

“Aye, and bear more children, no thanks to that charlatan,” Lomys said angrily. “Go, I must check the child – Lady Sansa was asking for you, my lord. You should go to her.”

Sansa was asleep when Garlan slipped into her tent, but someone had thought to gather her hair back with a length of cord, but that only served to emphasise how sharp her collarbones were, how hollow her cheeks and how frail her arms.

“She’s so delicate,” Baelor breathed. “Gods, what did he _do_ to her?”

“Broke her,” Garlan said faintly, horrified by just how weak Sansa looked. “I just hope Willas is prepared for this.”

 

* * *

 

Sansa woke up suddenly because the baby was crying, but when she looked around Garlan had him in the crook of his elbow and Aegon was choking on the dirk in his throat.

“What-“

“He was going to take you both,” Garlan said, and she noticed the red spreading across the sleeve of his pale shirt. “He didn’t think I would be here.”

“But you’ve-“

“Aye, I killed him,” Garlan said grimly. “If you’re in the wagon, Sansa, do you think you’ll be well enough to travel? We must get away before his men realise he’s dead.”

“I- yes, I, I think so, Garlan-“

“I promised both you and Willas that I’d get you home,” he said firmly. “And I intend on doing so – now, you take the little fellow, and I’ll have Humfrey come and help you prepare, shall I?”

“Could- could you? Please?”

She liked Humfrey, but he… He wasn’t Garlan, didn’t look at all like Willas, and Garlan and Baelor at least looked enough like Willas that she could trust that she was safe with them.

Garlan’s face softened.

“Do what you can yourself and I’ll be back as soon as I can,” he promised, setting the babe into the makeshift cradle Baelor had set up for him and hefting Aegon’s- Aegon’s _corpse_ over his shoulder. “I’ll be back soon.”

She forced herself to her feet, ignoring the pain in her belly as best she could, and managed to dress in the breeches and shirt and jerkin someone had left for her, but she couldn’t bend far enough to pull on the thick woollen stockings or to lace the boots, so she sat miserably on the edge of her camp bed and waited anxiously for Garlan.

True to his word, Garlan was back soon in clean clothes, his sword belted at his waist.

“I can’t tie my boots,” she said, feeling very foolish indeed. “Garlan, what if we can’t get away quick enough?”

“You and I and Baelor and Lord Tarly are going to ride ahead of the rest,” he told her. “It would be quicker if you could sit a horse, but Maester Lomys says that that could… Damage you, somehow, so we’re bringing the smallest wagon for you and the babe. Will you be able to manage him?”

She nodded, wincing when Garlan lifted her carefully to her feet. “I can, I promise.”

“I trust you,” he told her, swinging a heavy cloak around her shoulders and kissing her hair. “You go on out, Maester Lomys will settle you, and I’ll bring the little lad, alright? Go on, now – the sooner we set out, the sooner we get you home, hmm?”

She nodded and hobbled out of the tent – Baelor and Humfrey lifted her between them into the wagon, and even that ached horribly, but she breathed a sigh of relief when Maester Lomys scampered up into the wagon with her, the babe in his arms.

 

* * *

 

They were well away from Storm’s End by noon the following day – Garlan was thankful that Sansa had slept most of the way, only waking when Maester Lomys urged her to, to feed the child – but Lord Tarly and Baelor agreed that they weren’t far enough.

“We ride till sunset,” Baelor decreed, and Garlan was too worried for Sansa to argue. “We need to put as much distance between us and them as possible.”

 

* * *

 

It took nearly a full month to reach Highgarden, by which point the babe was hardier than Sansa and in the habit of screaming whenever he wanted anything.

Sansa was still frail, and Garlan had noticed her habit of flinching away even from him, but she perked up when she began to recognise landmarks – stopping with Leonette’s parents at Cider Hall had done her good, too, because Lady Merin was so like Leonette that it was impossible not to like her.

“Nearly home,” he said to her, riding alongside the wagon as they crested the final hill. “Nearly home, Sansa.”

She nodded, one arm holding the babe (she still hadn’t named him) to her breast and the other hand pressed to her mouth. There were tears in her eyes, but worse than that there was _fear –_ surely she didn’t think Willas would spurn her, did she?

 

* * *

 

Maester Lomys seemed to anticipate her reaction to finally, finally seeing Willas better than she did herself, Sansa would later note, because he took the babe from her just as they rode through the gates, just before she scrambled down out of the wagon and ran as best she could on shaky, weak legs towards Willas as he hobbled down the steps on his crutches, and neither of them cared when they hit the ground.

Nobody dared say a word in reprimand when Sansa wormed her way into his lap, when he buried his face in the spill of her hair over her shoulder, when they sat on the bottom step and cried and held one another tight enough to hurt.

“Don’t let me go,” she gasped against his neck, “please, Willas, please don’t let me go, never let me go-“

“I won’t,” he swore, leaning back and taking her face in his hands (he was so thin, so weary looking, deep shadows under his eyes and his cheeks sunken under his beard). “Never again, love, never.”

 

* * *

 

“She named him Daeron,” Willas said as he unclipped the brace holding his false leg in place and rubbed the tender skin underneath after setting aside the prosthesis. In the week since Sansa’s return, he’d taken to wearing it every day, and Garlan had a sneaking suspicion it was so he could manage with one crutch and help Sansa with the babe. “Daeron Storm. She said she thought about naming him for her father, but she… She wants to keep the Stark names for our children. Hers and mine.”

“Have you told Sansa about the letter from the Dragon Queen?” Garlan asked, passing over a cup of mulled wine when Willas had pulled a blanket over himself and settled back in his chair. “She deserves to know.”

“Tomorrow,” Willas promised. “She’s still so weak, Garlan, it frightens me. Will I ever be able to right what that shit did to her?”

“You can try,” Garlan said with a shrug. “There’s naught else to be done.”

 

* * *

 

The true dragons, beasts of fire and madness, came to Westeros all in a rush, an army of eunuchs and horselords and freed slaves on their heels, led by a queen of such beauty that looking upon her made Sansa’s breath catch.

Or maybe it was because, aside from the golden-honey cast of Aegon’s skin and the shape of his eyes, he and Daenerys might have been twins, and that _terrified_ Sansa.

Willas’ hand was warm and firm and so very real in hers, though, so she stood at his side and tried her best not to tremble when the Mother of Dragons walked delicately up the steps to the doors of Highgarden.

“I am told I have a grandnephew here,” she said in a voice like the silver bells in her hair. “May I see him?”

 

* * *

 

Daeron quieted in Daenerys’ arms as he never had in Sansa’s, and she felt horribly guilty for how relieved she was to have someone else care for him.

“Does she want to take him?” she whispered to Willas. “She… She has no husband, no children of her own – does she want Daeron?”

“I don’t know, love,” he said gently, rubbing a hand up and down her back. “We won’t let her if you want to keep him.”

“I don’t know if I do or not,” she admitted, pressing closer to him, her eyes never leaving the two in the chair on the far side of the room, Daeron clapping his hands as Daenerys shook her braid and her bells jingled for him. “Am I terrible for that?”

“I don’t think so,” he murmured, his arm sliding fully around her and pulling her against him. “After everything you went through, Sansa…”

 

* * *

 

“I have another nephew,” Daenerys said as she and Sansa walked through the rose gardens that evening, bundled up in cloaks. “Aegon was… Too much my brothers and my father, I fear, but I have another nephew who I hear you might vouch for.”

“I know none others of Targaryen blood-“

“But you know all those of Stark blood.”

Sansa drew to a halt, gathering the heavy fur Willas had wrapped around her shoulders closer.

“The only Starks left are myself and two of my brothers,” she said. “None of us-“

“One of your brothers is not your father’s son,” Daenerys said gently. “He is a bastard of both our Houses. He is your aunt Lyanna’s son-“

“No,” Sansa said backing away. “No, Lyanna- Lyanna did not give your brother a child, she didn’t, Aegon said-“

“Aegon was wrong,” Daenerys said, concern in her eyes. “Lady Sansa-“

 _“No!”_ Sansa shrieked, sinking to her knees. “No, if Lyanna- if she had a babe by your brother, Aegon took me- _No!_ You’re _wrong!”_

“Aegon taking you was wrong in every way imaginable,” Daenerys said, crouching in front of Sansa. “He was cruel and selfish and not a little mad – it has been said that every time a Targaryen is born, the gods flip a coin to decide between greatness and madness, and I fear it fell wrong for Aegon.”

“He took me from my husband and killed my baby and _forced me to-“_

“I know,” Daenerys said, and there was nothing but compassion on her lovely face. “I know, but please, the realm depends on this – can I trust Jon Snow?”

Sansa pushed to her feet and ran away, unable to think beyond _He said he needed me because Lyanna failed his father, but she didn’t, if Daenerys is right she didn’t and Father lied and now I’m ruined and-_

* * *

 

“You could not have broken it to her more gently?” Willas said angrily when Daenerys came to apologise. “You say you understand what she has gone through, and yet you did _that_ to her?”

“There have been rumours of her bastard brother’s parentage everywhere I turned since we landed in Westeros,” Daenerys said calmly. “I assumed she had heard _some_ of them.”

“Sansa is… Still not herself after her ordeal,” Garlan said placatingly, hand on Willas’ arm. “She’s sought some comfort in the notion that Aegon truly believed, but if he believed _wrong…”_

Daenerys frowned and crossed her arms.

“I did not mean to cause her such distress,” she said earnestly. “But I do need to know about my brother’s son, and she is the only person who might know him well enough to help me.”

“Sansa was never close to him growing up,” Willas said. “She said that he is very like her father, though, and I’ve never met anyone with a truly bad word to say for Ned Stark.”

Daenerys’ mouth twisted.

“I would rather have it from her own mouth,” she said, but Willas was already shaking his head.

“Maester Lomys had to give her a dram to make her sleep,” he said. “She was so upset… I will speak with her in the morning, but I make no promises, Your Grace – she has been unwell since she came home.”

“How do you mean?”

Willas grimaced.

“I have to remind her to eat, she hardly sleeps without help, and when she does she has terrible nightmares – she can barely stand to be away from my side, and every man aside from myself, Garlan and our father terrifies her. Well, and Maester Lomys, but he’s one of the few people she’s never seemed frightened of.”

 

* * *

 

“Jon is… Jon is good,” Sansa whispered. She was curled up in Willas’ lap, clinging to his doublet as he sat with his back to Daenerys and Garlan. “But he will not leave the Wall. He is too much like our- like my father. He will not break that vow.”

“Do you think he might ride a dragon if need be?”

“He might,” she said. “If he knew it was the right thing to do.”

Willas glanced back over his shoulder, and Daenerys nodded.

“Sweetling,” he said softly, “Daenerys wants to ask you something. Will you speak with her?”

Garlan could see how impatient Daenerys was – she wanted to fly north right away, but she needed Sansa’s confirmation on this first. It was a long while before Sansa nodded and lifted her head from Willas’ shoulder, before she looked up at Daenerys with wide eyes that seemed constantly frightened these days.

“Sansa,” Daenerys said, keeping her voice soft, “I cannot bear children, and if Jon will not leave the Wall-“

“You want Daeron for your heir.”

“Better a Targaryen than a Flowers,” Daenerys said hopefully, and Sansa frowned.

“He is a Storm,” she said. “He is nothing of the Reach.”

“Well, still better a Targaryen than a Storm,” Daenerys said gently. “Better a prince than a bastard, surely?”

Even from the door, Garlan could see the way Sansa’s fingers spasmed on Willas’ shoulders before she nodded, just once.

“Thank you,” Daenerys said. “I will draw up a decree of legitimisation at once. Thank you, Sansa.”

She nodded again before burying her face in Willas’ neck again, and by the time Daenerys slipped past Garlan to find her scribe, Sansa’s shoulders were shaking as she wept.

 

* * *

 

Willas turned around as soon as he realised she was in the bath, but he stopped when she called out to him.

“Please stay,” she called. “Please, don’t… Don’t look away from me.”

He took the chair from her dressing table with him and sat beside the bathtub, hands clasped in front of him.

“I don’t know how to help you,” he said at last. “I failed you, Sansa, and I don’t know how to right that-“

“You didn’t-“

“No, love, I did, I failed you,” he said, and he looked so ashamed that she had to touch his face. “I let them take you, let him… I failed you, Sansa. I promised that you would be safe here.”

“Garlan told me how badly hurt you were,” she whispered. “You are not to blame. It was _him,_ it was all him, him and his madness.”

His head dropped forward until his brow was against hers.

“I promised to keep you safe,” he said against her lips. “And I failed you, Sansa. How can I repair that?”

“Love me,” she said. “Just love me, please. Never stop.”

“I couldn’t if I tried.”

 

* * *

 

The Targaryens won both their wars, with Lannisters and Others alike, and Jon Snow remained Jon Snow on the Wall, but kept his dragon.

It took days for Willas to convince Sansa that they had no choice but to go to King’s Landing for Daenerys’ coronation, and even then she refused to leave so that they would arrive more than a day in advance.

Daenerys herself met them at the city gates, and Garlan knew he wasn’t the only one who noticed how relieved Sansa looked to pass Daeron to his great-aunt, how much easier the boy seemed to rest in Daenerys’ arms.

“Thank you for coming,” she said, touching Sansa’s hand and balancing Daeron on her hip. “I know-“

“No,” Sansa said simply. “No, you don’t know, but it does not matter.”

 

* * *

 

“I gave birth to him, but I… I can’t love him, Willas, not as he deserves, because I spend every moment looking for Aegon in his face and I can’t live like that, I can’t bear the thought of my son hating me – is there something wrong with me? Am I so broken-“

“Don’t you dare say that,” Willas warned, motioning for Garlan and Leonette to go away. “Don’t ever say that, you’re not _broken-“_

“I can’t love my own _son,_ Willas,” Sansa sobbed. “I want to love him, but I _can't,_ I can't and I’m a monster-“

“No, love, no, you’re not,” Willas said, and Garlan’s heart broke for his brother. “Please, Sansa, please, trust me, please.”

“Aegon broke me, Willas,” she said wretchedly. “He _broke_ me, and I _hate_ him."


	2. Epilogue.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> An epilogue. Um. Yeah.

"We are invited to the capital," Sansa said when Willas came to bed that night, passing him a letter with a broken seal of red wax. "For the Crown Prince's coming-of-age festivities."

Willas took the letter from her, watching her carefully as she clasped her hands and sat rigidly against the pillows, staring blankly at the far wall.

"Do you wish to go?" he asked, skimming the letter, grateful Daenerys had such clear handwriting. "I- ah."

"Yes," Sansa agreed. " _Ah._ Prince Daeron wishes to know his... His brothers and sister."

Willas set the letter aside and rolled onto his side to look at her, touched his fingertips to her cheek until she looked at him.

"Leyton and Arya are old enough to decide for themselves," he pointed out gently. "I will accompany them if they wish to go."

Sansa shook her head.

"I cannot expect them to face him if I cannot," she said. "I will not do that to them." She lifted her hand to hold his fingers to her face and bit her lip. "What about Ned? He's barely more than a babe, Willas, how am I to explain...?"

"He's nearly ten, Sansa. He might be old enough to understand."

"No," she said firmly. "No, I don't... I don't want him to look at me differently."

Willas laughed.

"Oh, sweetheart, you could tell Ned that you'd slaughtered everyone in King's Landing yourself and he's still think you hung the moon," he assured her. "But if you don't want to tell him yet, that is your decision."

"What if the twins tell him?"

"They won't," Willas said firmly. "I told them what would happen if they did, and trust me, there is no need to fear that they will."

She was silent for a breath too long, and he leaned up to kiss her, to bring her out of her daze.

"You do not have to go," he reminded her. "The twins will understand, Sansa, and I don't mind bringing them if they do want to go-"

"It's been sixteen years, Willas," she said, sliding her arms around his neck and pressing close to him. "I may not be able to... But surely I can face him? I did- I did give birth to him, after all."

"Are you certain you want to do this?"

"No," she admitted into his hair, "but you will stay with me, won't you?"

"Always," he swore, kissing her shoulder. "You'll never be rid of me, little wolf."

"Good," she said firmly, maneuvering them so he was on his back under her, so he could wrap his arms around her and hold her tight to him. "I couldn't stand it any other way."

* * *

"The Queen has invited us to Prince Daeron's coming-of-age festivities," Sansa said over breakfast with the children the next morning. "And Prince Daeron has... Has expressed an interest in meeting all of you."

Leyton and Arya, all Tyrell (well, Hightower, because they looked like Willas, like Mother and Baelor) except for their blue, blue eyes, exchanged a glance.

"Does this mean we get to go to King's Landing?" Ned asked, covering his mouth to hide how excited he was. He had Sansa's hair, curly and fiery red, and dark eyes that Sansa said were like her father's, that were currently bright with glee. "Oh, Mother, can we go? Might I come?"

Leyton put a hand on Ned's shoulder.

"It's Mother's choice," he said firmly, and Ned subsided slightly, his face falling - he knew that tone, knew it meant Leyton was taking control and acting as eldest, as heir. "Mother?"

"Your father and I have spoken about it at some length," Sansa said, spreading butter on her toast as she spoke, not looking up (because Arya, oh, Arya was too perceptive by half, and Willas knew Sansa wouldn't want Arya to know how scared she was). "We think that mayhaps it is past time that you all saw something beyond Highgarden and Oldtown."

Ned crowed with delight and almost fell over himself in his rush to get around the table to hug Sansa, already giddy with the thought of getting to go to the capital.

Leyton and Arya sat where they were until Ned had run off shouting "Grandmama! Grandmama!"

"Did _he_ write to you, or was it the Queen?" Arya asked, scowling magnificently for such a pretty girl. "Because-"

"Daeron is your brother, Arya," Sansa said quietly. "He did not ask to be conceived as he was, but he  _is_ your brother, and mayhaps it was wrong of me to keep you from him all these years."

"He is a Targaryen," Leyton said, his jaw set in a way so entirely Loras that Willas worried for a moment that his son would show an unprecedented temper. "And the last Targaryen prince hurt you, Mother, and the one before that hurt your aunt. Pardon us for being sceptical."

"Leyton," Willas cautioned. "This is your mother's decision. You said that yourself."

"I do not wish to see my mother hurt again, Father," Leyton said, pushing away from the table and standing up. "That is all."

Sansa smiled when Leyton kissed her brow before taking his leave, but Arya sat where she was.

"If he lays a finger on me, I will kill him," she said bluntly. "I would rather be a kinslayer-"

"You mustn't say such things," Sansa said, horrified. "No, he will not touch you - stay with Leyton, and I mean to ask your uncle and aunt to come with us, and Garlan will-"

"Uncle Garlan will stay with  _you_ , Mother," Arya said fondly, patting Sansa's hand. "Leyton and I will manage well enough without him, do not worry."

* * *

Leonette and Sansa rode with the twins and Loras, Garlan's boy, and Willas rode with Garlan, with Ned and Elyse, Garlan's daughter, between the two groups.

"Is she certain about this?" Garlan asked quietly. "I remember-"

"I know," Willas agreed. "But she insisted - she worries that she has done our children a disservice by keeping them from him."

"That's a very  _Sansa_ way of looking at it."

Willas huffed a laugh.

"Aye, it is, but how can I say no to her? Much and all as I hate it, Daeron  _is_ her son - gods, Garlan, he looks more like her than any of ours do."

"I forgot you've been to court since," Garlan said. "Does he seem like his father?"

"Not as far as I could tell, but Daenerys was careful to keep us apart as much as possible," Willas admitted. "But he's got her hair, her eyes - he's got her  _smile,_ Garlan. And he's annoyingly good, as far as I could tell - Daenerys seems to have done right by him."

"Hopefully the Targaryen blood is diluted enough to wash out the madness." 

* * *

They were received with great pomp and ceremony, but Sansa stayed as close as she could to Willas' side, avoiding the eyes the same shape and colour as her own that watched her fiercely from Daenerys' right as best she could. She couldn't avoid seeing him, of course, couldn't avoid seeing beyond the colour of his hair and his eyes to the shape of his nose and the slant of his cheekbones and the curve of his mouth.

She couldn't avoid seeing his father, couldn't avoid remembering how those same features had looked in sharp moonlight and shadow, looming over her and twisted with pleasure as she buried her face in the pillow and tried not to scream.

"Are you well?" Willas murmured as they followed a servant in Targaryen livery up the stairs. "You were very quiet."

"He was staring at me," she whispered. "And he is more like his father than I expected."

"Oh. I think him very like Rickon."

"He has the hair and the eyes, but I can see Aegon in him. He speaks very like Aegon, I think."

"Are you sure that you are able for this?"

"No," she admitted. "But Ned is so excited to meet his brother, and although they'd never admit it I know the twins are curious."

"Sansa-"

"No," she said, a shade firmer. "No, I can- I can manage. For the twins and Ned, I  _can_ do this."

* * *

"Lady Tyrell? Um, Lady Sansa, I mean?"

Leonette was halfways out of her chiar by the time Sansa steeled herself enough to look up at Daeron, standing awkwardly in the door of the room.

"I'll leave you to it," Leonette said, touching Sansa's hand and smiling encouragingly before motioning for Elyse and Arya to follow her.

Arya sat stubbornly where she was, even going as far as to set aside her sewing and fold her arms, and Sansa had never been more certain that she'd named her daughter well.

"Arya," Sansa said softly. "Go with your aunt. Please?"

For a moment, Sansa thought Arya was going to defy her, but she was not so much like Sansa's lost sister that she would do that. She sighed heavily and swung inelegantly to her feet, making sure to knock against Daeron as she followed Leonette out of the room, leaving Sansa alone with the prince.

With her eldest son.

"Um," he said. "Hello, my lady."

"Please," she said, rising to her feet as steadily as she could manage and dipping a curtsy, ignoring his half-articulated protests ( _I cannot treat him as my son, I gave that right up years ago, I did not want him as my son)_ and then forcing a smile. "Have a seat, your highness."

Daeron sat opposite her, where Leonette had been sitting, and folded his hands together anxiously ( _long, thin fingers, fine-boned and elegant, just like Mother's_ ).

"My- her- Daenerys told me how I was conceived," he blurted out. "She told me what my father did to you."

"That was a very long time ago."

"Do you hate me for what he did to you? I ask because you seem unable to even look at me, but I saw the way you are with my- with your- with Lord Tyrell's children. "

"Your brothers and sister, you mean," she said, not sure which of them she was trying to hurt ( _I should only ever have borne Willas' children, you should have been Arianne Martell's son)_. "Have you spoken with any of them?"

"I wished to speak with you first," he said. "You are- you did-"

"I am your mother."

"You never wanted to be." 

"Can you truly blame me?" she asked. "I was near a year younger than you are now when your father literally took me from my bed. He had me for seven months, locked in a tower room in Storm's End. I was carrying my husband's child when your father took me, and he forced tansy tea down my throat-"

"I know!" Daeron shouted. "I know. We- he kept a journal, and Septa Lemore thought I should read it, to learn from his mistakes. I know what he did to you. I know."

Sansa was so startled by that that she looked up and met Daeron's eyes without thinking. 

"She made you read Aegon's journal," she said flatly. 

"Yes," he said, looking back down at his hands. "Yes, she did."

"I never thought her a cruel woman," Sansa said, astonished. "Quite the opposite, in fact - she was my sole comfort while I carried you, aside from my dreams of home."

"She did not do it to be cruel. She did not want a third generation of fools, that is all. Aunt Dany agreed."

"And did it help you? Did reading your father's and grandfather's madness make you a better man?"  _A pity Lemore did not use Rhaegar's journals to teach Aegon better,_ Sansa thought bitterly. 

"I hope so," he said quietly. "I try to be a better man than they were." His cheek moved with what Sansa assumed to be a smile, but it was hard to tell with his hair falling over his face. "Aunt Dany would have Drogon roast me alive if I behaved as my father did."

Sansa was inclined to agree with him - Daenerys had been genuinely disgusted with what Aegon had done to her, after all - but she can't help but wonder-

"Her Grace travels extensively," she said.  _Never to Highgarden, Willas comes to King's Landing or meets her in Oldtown for my sake._ "Do you go with her?"

"If you mean have I been to Winterfell, then yes, I have," he said. "Your brother was as welcoming as could be expected."

Meaning Rickon had gone out of his way to be  _unwelcoming,_ because he had never forgiven Lord Manderly for refusing to allow him to send help when Aegon had taken her, because he despised the Targaryens with a fury otherwise reserved for the Lannisters and Boltons and Freys. Oh, Sansa remembered well enough Rickon's first visit to Highgarden after the war, when she'd still been too frail to go to Winterfell, remembered that terrifying rage in her little brother, remembered how gentle he'd been with her even though he'd screamed himself hoarse at Willas and the rest of them for not keeping her safe, for what he saw as their failure, their negligence, their folly. Even still, Rickon could hardly speak to Willas without becoming bitter, no matter how Sansa tried to convince him that it had not been her husband's fault.

She could imagine how welcoming Rickon had been to the product of Aegon's actions, alright. It was half a miracle that Daeron had survived the visit.

"He is uniquely volatile," Sansa said, almost wishing Rickon was here with her now. "And your other uncle?"

Sweet Jon, who had refused legitimisation as a Targaryen, who had refused to acknowledge Daenerys as his aunt or Aegon as his brother, who had resolutely refused every right his father's blood gave him except the great green dragon that still prowled the Wall at his command. 

"Lord Snow was quite adamant that I am his nephew because I am  _your_ son, not my father's," Daeron said, shooting a glance at her through his hair. "He was less, um, less abrupt than Lord Stark, though."

"Jon is a good man."

"Yes, I believe that he is," Daeron agreed. "I admire him very much. Few men would have refused the Iron Throne, and Aunt Dany with it. She asked him to marry her, you know."

"I do," Sansa conceded, remembering how Jon had managed to make a visit to Highgarden not long after Rickon, because Rickon had written to him and told him that Sansa was dying - and, she supposed, to her brothers it might have looked as though she was. She certainly hadn't been _well_ , that was for certain. "Jon told me."

"I would like to be a good man," he said. "I know- I know what people say of people like me. Conceived like me, I mean, bastards born of rape. I am not a bad person, my lady. I would like for you to know that."

Sansa's fingers itched with the sudden desire to reach out to this child, this boy who was suddenly expected to be a man, but he looked up at her and everything from the tilt of his head to the way his mouth curled hopefully reminded her so forcefully of his father that instead, she found herself curling her fingers into her skirts to stop herself from slapping him in panic.

"I doubt your aunt would allow you to be anything else."

* * *

"Daeron tells me he spoke with you yesterday," Daenerys said, sidling along towards Sansa.

"You have raised him well."

"As would you have, I'm sure."

Sansa smiled bitterly and looked at Daenerys at last, abandoning the view of the city spread out below the Red Keep.

"I would have hardly ben able to look at him," she said. "You have loved him, cherished him - that is more than I could ever have given him."

"He looks like your brother."

"He looks like your nephew," Sansa corrected the Queen. "I knew Aegon's face better than anyone still living, and Daeron is very like him. He has my eyes and hair, but otherwise-"

"No," Daenerys said, "no, I mean that there is something of Jon in him - he has a way of looking at you through his hair, and sometimes he smiles- I can't quite put my finger on it, but there is something there. Something of Jon."

"It was for the best that you took Daeron," Sansa said. "Trust me on that, Your Grace."

"You are a wonderful mother, though," Daenerys argued. "Your other children adore you, everyone can see it-"

"Daeron was never supposed to exist," Sansa whispered, looking away from Daenerys again. "And if he was, he should have been Arianne Martell's son, not mine. My sons should all have been Willas'."

"Sansa-"

"It is not his fault," she said hurridly. "It never was, it was always Aegon's, but I just... I cannot look at him without seeing his father. Does he wish to know me, Daenerys? Is that why he sought me out? Or is it his brothers and sister that he wants to know?"

"All of you, I think," Daenerys said with a shrug. "Even your husband - he knows that Willas was willing to raise him at Highgarden, before I claimed him, and he admires that strength of character. There are not many men who would suffer their wives' bastards. Daeron has a very strong sense of right and wrong, and he thinks that what your husband was going to do was very much the right thing."

"Willas would have raised him, even after you claimed him, but I couldn't. I just couldn't. Am I weak for that, do you think?"

Daenerys smiled. 

"I have always thought you very strong indeed for surviving what you did, Sansa," she said. "Very strong indeed."

Sansa settled back on the windowseat as Daenerys walked away, but she looked up when the other woman called.

"Daeron only asked for one thing for his name day," she said. "Do you know what that was?"

Sansa shook her head, and Daenerys smile was devastatingly sad.

"A chance to show you that he is not Aegon, Sansa. That was all he wanted."

* * *

It took her until the night before they were due to leave, as well as all of Willas' gentle encouragement, to gather her bravery and do this one small thing.

Daeron looked up from his book when she knocked on the door of his solar, and Sansa fancied that she could see what Daenerys meant about there being something of Jon in him for just a split second before Aegon's features reasserted themselves. 

"Lady Tyrell," he said, anxiously fidgeting with his hair, the hem of his tunic, the untidy stack of books on the floor by his chair. "Um, come in? Might I offer you something to drink?"

"No," she said, shaking her head and clasping her hands together so he would not see that they, too, were shaking. "I will not stay."

His face fell, and she felt that urge to touch him - his hair, darker than her own, the same as Rickon's, as Ned's - rising again.

"May I help you with something, then, my lady?"

"I only wish to- I only wish for you to know that I do not," she said. "Hate you, that is. For what your father did. You asked me if I hate you for what he did, but I don't. I couldn't hate you."

"My lady-"

"I don't know if I could ever love you, either," she said, before he could say something sweet and very  _Jon-like_ and ruin her composure. "But, mayhaps, we could write to one another. I know Ned, my Ned, I know that he wishes to write to you?"

"He said as much, but I told him he would have to ask Lord Tyrell first. Do you mean it, my lady?"

"Sansa," she offered. "I do not think it would be appropriate for you to call me... For you to call me Mother, but my name is Sansa. You should use it, I think."

He smiled shyly and yes, he really  _was_ like Rickon, now she looked at him.


End file.
